Days of Winter (43 page)

He paused, taking a deep breath, and sipped the brandy. They all sat waiting. “Well, the doctor said I had no other choice. I had to commit her—”

Madame gasped. “Where did you take her?”

“To a private sanitarium. I signed her in under an assumed name.”

“Oh, Jean-Paul … how will she be treated?”

“She’ll have the best of care. The psychiatrist assured me of that. …It’s taken forever and I should have called you, but I didn’t know what to say. Please let me apologize. There were times when I thought I’d never feel sane again myself. …”

“But how long will she have to stay?”

“I don’t know, they don’t know … there were a million papers to sign and they kept asking me questions. …Three psychiatrists had to be consulted. …When I finally got back to Paris I went home and changed my clothes. …I’d told Pierre to say nothing to anyone. I came straight here from my home. …”

Jeanette was trying to remain outwardly calm. Inside, she was weak with shock, and relief, and fear. …At least now she understood why the butler earlier had been so vague in his hesitation when she’d called impersonating Monsieur Dryfus’ secretary. …

“You’ll stay tonight, of course,” Etienne said. Jean-Paul agreed, and Madame sent him to bed at once. She’d have

Clothilde send a tray to his room. …

Jean-Paul lay exhausted in his old bed, in the same room he’d slept in as a boy and young man, up to the time of his marriage to Marie Jacqueline. His mother was watching him now much as she’d done, he thought, when he was a child, and memories of her then came back to him … her strength and comforting, the way she’d come to his room dressed for the opera, her dress always rustling and billowing out, a cerise velvet gown, it was … and the smell of her perfume that somehow always made his nose itch. It was still there now, this evening, and it comforted him. …

After she’d said goodnight he lay in the dark, watching the fire die down in the grate. She had even thought of the fire, although the room hadn’t been used in five years. She should have been Marshal Dupré. How quickly she got things done. She had aroused the servants immediately, and fresh bed linen had been placed over the mattress. The comforter had been brought out of storage, a supper prepared, and all of this within minutes … clean towels, pajamas, slippers, a robe. …

He had imagined that Marie Jacqueline’s life would be short, especially the last couple of years, but
this
he had not bargained for. Put away as she was, she could live for a very long time. People without responsibilities could retreat into themselves, their very madness less of a strain than coping with the stress of normal day-to-day life. Well … there it was … he was shackled in marriage, which he could do nothing about She was still alive … and so was Etienne … but at least he had his dear brother’s wife as his mistress. Except, ironically, she was the only woman he’d ever really wanted as his wife. And although soon he would have a son, he would not be able to acknowledge him as his own. …

At least he did have control now over Marie Jacqueline’s estate. She had neither father nor mother, sister nor brother to contest his power over it When he went back home, he’d have the bedroom cleaned and the door to it sealed, so he could block out the fact that she’d ever lived. He would also, he assured himself as he lay in the dark staring at the ceiling, do away with those damn cats. …

Down the hall, Jeanette lay in Etienne’s arms, but her body was tense and unresponsive. When Etienne finally had fallen into his characteristically deep sleep, she slipped carefully out of bed, put on her peignoir and left the room. She walked down the hall to Jean-Paul’s room and quietly opened the door, locking it behind her. Quickly then she was in his arms, holding him, caressing him … pouring out her need for him, and her relief that he was here, safe … and exhausted and battered as he was, he responded. …

Afterward, relaxed, feeling calmer than he had in twenty-four hours, he said, “I know this will sound harsh, darling, but I wish she had died, it would have been better for her … for everybody. …”

“
Don’t,
oh please don’t have such thoughts … We do have each other—”

“That’s not true. I don’t have you … I only share a small part of your life—”

“No, Jean-Paul, it’s Etienne who shares only a part. …Please, let’s accept what we have. …Nothing in life can be perfect, I know something about that … but you and I have so much together, let’s be satisfied with that. …”

But he wasn’t satisfied … and, masking his anger, took hold of her and, without preliminaries, made love to her again. And for her it was, as always with him, the impossible, irresistible mixture of wild excitement and guilt.

She lay beside him for a while, until she realized he’d fallen asleep. Then, carefully, quietly so as not to disturb him, she removed her arm from across his chest, got off the bed, unlocked, opened and closed the door, and went back to her husband’s room, and bed.

I
N THE MONTHS THAT
followed, Jeanette showed very little. In reality she was seventh months pregnant, but thanks at least in part to her regimen she looked no more than five. After today, they had decided, she and Jean-Paul would abstain from love-making, fearing that it would be too strenuous … and dangerous … at this stage. But it seemed to Jean-Paul, as he lay beside her, that he could feel the child inside her kick, a thrill he had thought he would never experience. …

And then, excitedly, another thought occurred to him. “Darling,” he said, “I’ve decided there can’t be too much of a good thing, not, at any rate, with a natural-born mother like you. …” He smiled and stroked her hair. “I absolutely have decided, no arguments now, that we should have more children, more lovely children that are only yours and mine. …”

And looking at him, she realized her answer would have to be the beginning of the first serious deception between them, because much as she owed him, much as she was overwhelmed and a part of him, this she would never do. …Any more children would be Etienne’s—she owed
him
that—and … admit it … she wanted them to be … but Jean-Paul would never know, could assume what he wished. …And she heard herself answering him, “Oh yes, Jean-Paul …” But in her lie she turned away so as not to face him.

Of course they saw each other each night at dinner, and often during the day, when Jean-Paul would come to chat with maman, and stay for lunch. Madame was knitting furiously.

After dinner, the four Duprés played bridge. Etienne had taught Jeanette how to play, and she found that she enjoyed it very much. The only time she left the house now was in the company of Etienne or Madame.

The nursery was being refurbished. The brass directoire bassinet had been padded once again with tufted white satin trimmed with tiny blue bows. Once Etienne had asked, “What if it’s a girl?”

Maman had answered, “I think it will be a son, but if it isn’t … and I only say if … we’ll change the ribbons to pink.”

Sheer white netting had been gathered and hung around the bassinet, held by a brass rod that curved at the top, where an enormous blue bow was sewn. All the Dupré children had spent their first month in this enclosure. It could be swung gently back and forth. The rocker in which Madame had held her children to her breast was placed beside the bassinet. Then the brass crib, still as bright as on the day Denise, her first-born, had slept in it, was brought to the nursery and placed in the corner. The layette had been hand-sewn by the best seamstress in Paris.

Madame spent hours telling Jeanette about the mysteries and glories of motherhood.

When she approached her (actual) eighth month, Jeanette began interviewing governesses for the older children. After seeing a dozen less than ideal applicants in the course of one day, Jeanette told Etienne that she was almost ready to settle for anybody, she was so weary of the task. She finally hired the woman with the best recommendations, a widow in her middle forties. Madeleine would serve as a nursemaid for the new baby when the trained nurse left after her confinement.

One morning, at the beginning of her ninth month, Jeanette tripped on the last step, going down to breakfast She’d managed to hold onto the banister as she fell, and seemed more frightened than hurt, but Dr. Bernier was nonetheless called, and all felt relieved when the doctor agreed that she was, and understandably, more frightened than anything else. But at one o’clock in the morning, her water broke in bed, drenching not only herself, but Etienne. Having not the slightest idea of what to do, he called his mother, who came rushing into the room, It was her greatest concern that this child not be imperfect as Etienne had been. She called Dr. Bernier immediately and asked him to come at once. The bedding was replaced, and Madeleine helped Jeanette bathe and get back into bed. Madame alerted the entire staff to be prepared for any eventuality.

Clothilde boiled large pots of water, and even Jean-Paul was summoned. Dr. Bernier arrived an hour later, knowing full well that it would probably be a long time before he was actually needed, but to please Madame he had brought with him his obstetrical nurse, who immediately took charge.

“Are you in pain?” Etienne asked her nervously.

“No … at least not much. The pains are still too far apart to be severe.”

But soon they became more frequent, and she gripped his hand tightly, wincing and moaning as the pains became more sharp.

“Just relax between the contractions,” said the nurse, “and try to breathe naturally. You’re too tense, madame.”

Jeanette tried, but the next pain was so sharp she bit her lip and cried out. Etienne felt the pain as keenly as though it was his. She held onto his hands, digging her nails into his flesh, until it subsided. It was now six o’clock.

“I think you should leave now, Etienne,” said the doctor. “I want to examine madame again. You may come back later.”

Etienne kissed Jeanette.

“You will come back?” she said.

“Yes, as soon as the doctor says, but I’ll be just outside your door.”

Throughout the night and into the dawn her screams became louder and more frequent. Etienne came and went from Jeanette’s room, and although her suffering was unbearable for him to watch, still stayed beside her until once again he was asked to leave. Dr. Bernier vowed that this would be the last Dupré child born in this bed. It was a thoroughly archaic practice. What he needed now was his hospital staff, equipped with modern facilities, including a little gas anesthesia from time to time. He no longer believed in complete natural childbirth. She needed an episiotomy. By two o’clock in the afternoon he was convinced that, Jeanette being as small as she was, a delivery at home would be next to impossible.

Dr. Bernier knew he should perform a Caesarean. He watched Jeanette writhe in pain. Finally he told her, “You simply can’t go on this way. I’m going to make arrangements to have you taken to the hospital—”

“No, no … my child … must be born in this house … in the same bed his father was born in—”

“Madame, you’re in no condition to make that decision.”

She hung on weakly to his hands. “Please, doctor … let my child be born here. …It must be. …”

“Believe me, madame, I think I know what’s best—”

She bit her hand so hard the teeth marks left deep indentations, the perspiration pouring down her face. “I won’t go. …I refuse to go. …No one can make me. …”

When he saw the look of determination in her eyes, he said, against his better judgment, “All right We’ll wait a little longer.”

In the small sanctuary downstairs adjacent to the library, Madame kept to herself. She knelt with her rosary, praying to Mother Mary that she beg her Divine Son to look down on this new child about to come into the world and make him healthy and whole. And allow his mother to survive the ordeal. …

As the hours passed, the screams became more frequent. Jeanette lay in a pool of sweat, almost too tired to cry out. But somehow, with each pain, the screams came. Etienne was frantic and sat with his head in his hands. Jean-Paul, who’d come upstairs now, talked as though to comfort him, although, of course, it was himself that he was trying to reassure. He hadn’t been able to see Jeanette, but hoped she knew that he was just outside.

At this point, she was aware of none of them, of nothing except the pain and the hope that God would forgive her. …

The hours kept ticking away, though they seemed to pass more and more slowly. At eight o’clock in the evening Dr. Bernier examined her once again. The baby had dropped somewhat, but not enough. A Caesarean was too dangerous to perform, and the doctor chastised himself for allowing Jeanette to override his better judgment.

The minutes ticked away. Suddenly Jeanette let out an ear-shattering scream. Etienne began to groan … this simply could not go on. Dr. Bernier examined her again, and glory be to heaven, he began to see the beginning of life.

After twenty hours of excruciating labor, Jeanette’s child was delivered in a breach birth. Breathing hard, she relaxed at last, drenched in perspiration, as the child, still in its placenta, was placed on her abdomen. She looked down at the tiny figure, and from that moment, she was never to know a love as great, as all-encompassing, as this. She had fought, and she had won. And, for now at least, it seemed God had forgiven her. …

This was the flesh of her flesh. She did not think of Jean-Paul, or of Etienne, but only of this small pink ball that lay on her belly. …

Once the cord had been severed, the nurse prepared the child and brought it to its mother. Dr. Bernier, in his shirt sleeves and mopping his forehead, went into the hall where Etienne and Jean-Paul were waiting. He took off his glasses and wiped them. “Well, Etienne,” he said, “you have a son.”

Etienne was almost transfixed. Jean-Paul couldn’t restrain a little jump for joy, repeating, “A son … a son!” He took Etienne by the shoulders and shook him. “You lucky man, you have a son. A son, a new Dupré.”

“Yes, by God, I have a son.” Then, turning to Dr. Bernier, Etienne asked, “How is she?”

“Fine. The labor was very hard, and unnecessary. How she came through it, I don’t know. I wasn’t sure there for a while. But congratulations, she’s going to be fine.”